


Allergies and Old Age

by Realstone



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Realstone/pseuds/Realstone
Summary: This sketch is an ode to allergy season and old age that is currently kicking my rump.





	Allergies and Old Age

Oh, hell, Miricale thought as she fought the growing need to cough, that she knew would not be just one quiet or delicate clearing of her throat but a series of deep, ragged energy draining hacks. As quietly as possible she gathered the papers on the table in front of her. Shuffled them into an untidy pile then into her padfolio, pushed the chair she sat in away from the conference table, stood, took a step over and back from the table, then several more toward the glass and brass entrance doors. Her hand reached out to grab the door handle as her name was announced into the room.

“Miricale, do you have to leave?”

Not turning around she answered, “Yes.”

“Why?”

Miricale turned to stare in frustration at her inquisitor. She held his gaze as she determined just how truthful she wanted to be. She cataloged all the reason she felt she did not have to answer: she was twice his age; had been employed at the company for three times as long as he; and had worked almost every job on the ladder to the position she currently held. Feeling that all had earned her some measure of grace; prompted her response.

“Chronic seasonal allergies equal non-productive cough equals extra stress on my aging bladder. So I’m going to leave before I embarrass myself.”

She registered a snigger from one of the other nine persons at the table, but her glance never left the man demanding her attention.

“This meeting is ‘important.’ It has taken several weeks to schedule. How do “you plan” to make up for wasting our time?”

Miricale took a shallow breath trying not to aggravate her irritated lungs and thereby, dismantling her effort to control the pressure on her bladder. All the mental and physical juggling she was trying discretely to manage was forcing the scale pan holding her effort to control her temperature ever downward while the one holding her need to verbally tear strips of flesh from the A-personality rise steadily upward. At the censure on his face Miricale opened the door. With one side of her body holding the door open she looked at him again. “Mr. Chairman, I considered eight - - individuals at this table capable of intelligent and trustworthy decision-making with little to no hand-holding and because of that “my plan” is to go home, gather the items I need as quickly as possible then go to my bathroom and sit there until I’m hopefully as dry as a desert, then put on my designer Depend so that the next time I’m abusing my lungs I will not have to worry about or need to clutch, run and pray.”

Miricale waited for the quiet laughter to die away and for the man staring at her with an expression of disbelief to say something. When he did not Miricale nodded to the others and with more dignity than she felt, left the room.


End file.
